


Ain't Laurent Without Yves

by soyane



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Zayn, Designer Zayn, M/M, Model Harry, Pining, Project Runway au of sorts, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyane/pseuds/soyane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn slowly loses hope of making a living out of his passion for creating clothes, but decides to give it one last chance and enters Project Runway. In the midst of making his dreams come true, he meets Harry - a very successful model with diva tendencies and a string of heartbroken ex-lovers. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Laurent Without Yves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withinwithout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinwithout/gifts).



> Work written for the prompt: model AU - one of them is the face of Burberry, but looks at the other and thinks Christopher Bailey picked the wrong guy.
> 
> I hope the prompter finds the story to suit their tastes :) I love fashion and it was great for me to work with it.  
> Project Runway is my way of life, so I'm terribly sorry, but seeing a prompt like this I had to fit it in there! I'd like to state as well, that I'm aware that the UK had their version of the programme called Project Catwalk and since the story takes place in London I should have probably conformed to that, but the story happens in the future and in the alternate universe, and besides that I really cannot imagine PR without Heidi and Tim, so there's that.  
> I hope it doesn't spoil anything for you and doesn't annoy any of you.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta who made very valid points xx.
> 
> Title is a slogan for a campaign against the change of name of Yves Saint Laurent to Saint Laurent (you can read about it here: http://stupiddope.com/2013/01/23/aint-laurent-without-yves-t-shirts-sweatshirts/ )
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything in this story.

*

 

Zayn had never understood the dramatic streak that most people manifested while changing something in their lives or moving to live somewhere else. The only feelings he associated with times like these, were those of unease and insecurity, which remained for a few weeks until the “new place” became familiar. And then it was alright again. All this talk about “closing chapters” and “new beginnings” had always seemed a little bit like gibberish to him. He himself valued stability more than the average person, but he was well aware of the fact that perfect stability, with no changes whatsoever, was unattainable – he came to terms with the fluidity of life a long time ago. So, he found it annoying when people kept on yapping all those clichés, not sure if they really felt this way, or if they did that only to fill in the silence, which was another thing he never truly understood. He liked silence. He was fond of it, like people were fond of their friends. It gave refuge from the ever-present background noise of the modern world. He sighed to himself thinking how in just about twelve hours he would find himself in a place a few times noisier than Bradford would ever be.

 

Packing on the other hand, had always been the absolute worst for Zayn – the ultimate torture. It was bad enough when he knew he would be somewhere long-term, and now, when things could end as soon as they started... Deciding on the minimum he would need for the next few months as the programme was shoot seemed impossible to him. How could people possibly decide about the minimum they had to take with them? How could he possibly decide how many things he would need?  What if he would have to sacrifice his jeans for a challenge?  He was watching it avidly for a few years now and he had seen what the producers and screenwriters were capable of. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

 

His first big move took place when he had decided to attend the Royal College of Art and thus had to move from Bradford to London, at the wee age of seventeen. It was a bigger deal than he had first suspected it would be and it was a good thing he underestimated it because he may have never followed his dreams otherwise. However, all in all Zayn had never regretted that decision. He came to love his Alma Mater, with its supportive professors, flexible curriculum and valuing vision above all. It made him grow and develop, it let him explore the art and designing on his own terms, but with the invaluable guidance of people more knowledgeable. Some of the students would sometimes whine about the obligatory history of fashion classes, but for Zayn they were quite inspiring. He figured it was good to know what had already been invented – that way he could be sure that whatever he designed was truly innovative.

  
Another thing was learning how to construct - whether it concerned architecture or clothes, it gave him craft. He started designing and sewing his own clothes back then. He looked fondly at his sewing machine his parents had bought for him about a year into the Royal Arts College. It had been with him through all of his crafting assignments, through his diploma work, and when he started sewing and selling clothes on-line. It was a dear friend and a source of money at the same time. But lately it had been bugging him more and more that even though he managed to pay his bills, he couldn’t afford living by himself, and he reached a point in his life when he wanted to have a place of his own and a more or less steady income. This was his chance – the last trial before admitting defeat and locking his teenage dreams away in a box in the attic.

 

He looked around the flat, checking if he packed everything he wanted to take with him and searching for any stray items that might have escaped his attention. He had been sharing it with his childhood friend, Danny, for almost four years now. Their flat was tiny, consisting of two small bedrooms, a kitchenette and a bathroom where a narrow shower barely fit. When they first moved in it was more than enough for them, but after a few years of living together in a such a tiny space they were tired of it and close to getting in each other’s hair. Probably they’d already be, if they weren’t such good friends to begin with.

 

“Are you ready?” Danny asked from behind him, a bottle of beer in his hand. Zayn sighed and pursed his lips, holding his sides – a pose his mum practised to perfection.

 

“I think so.”

 

“Come on, let’s have a drink,” he said and tugged him towards the old, tattered couch. It had seen them at their best and at their worst, the highs and lows of them trying to figure out what adult life was about. Zayn paused to think what kind of stories it would tell, if given the opportunity.

 

“Dude,” Danny’s voice brought him back to reality from his musings, “brighten up, in a few months you’ll be famous and bedding any model you set your eyes on.”

 

Zayn snorted and cracked his beer open, taking a seat next to his friend. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

 

“ _Details_ ,” Danny sighed in exasperation. “But it _could_.”

 

Zayn just raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, sure.”

 

They stayed silent, drinking their beer and staring ahead of themselves, each of them lost in different thought.

 

“I know you don’t, like, swing this way, but would you say no to Adriana Lima?”

 

Zayn snorted. Danny had ideas like this from time to time and Zayn couldn’t find it in himself to fight it – he had always been like this, strongly reluctant to any kind of confrontation. “I’d design for her,” he said instead, and opened another beer for himself. Danny perked at the suggestion.

 

“Oooh, I could take her measurements for you!”

 

Zayn stifled a laugh, shaking his head at his friends antics. “You sure you don’t know them already?” He teased with a sly smile on his lips. Danny hit him lightly with a pillow.

 

“Even if I do,” Danny paused and narrowed his eyes, before adding, “which I don’t, would you deny a lifetime friend of yours such a simple pleasure?”

 

“Oh, I thought you were talking about taking her measurements and not full on groping!” Zayn exclaimed sarcastically. “That changes _everything_.”

 

“Dick,” Danny commented with no real heat behind his words. Zayn shrugged. “Guys are coming in later. You know, to properly ship you off to the capital.”

 

“Cool.”

 

And when later that night his friends were bidding him good night and wishing him luck in the competition, Zayn’s only thought was _hello Project Runway_ , _here I come_.

 

***

 

Whenever Zayn thought back to how he got hooked up on fashion, it never failed to bring a fond smile to his face.

 

It was autumn, he remembered, some time after Halloween. He was sitting with Danny in the Riach’s kitchen, thinking hard about the math’s assignment, a bag of ham-flavoured crisps they bought on their way home between them, when Danny’s older brother, Ant, came back home. He was unusually excited.

 

“Guys,” he had said, barely containing his excitement, his cheeks unusually flushed. “I have to show you something _awesome_.”

 

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and tugged Danny and Zayn to tell them all about this show, his older friends showed to him, full of _almost naked women_. So naturally, both Danny and Zayn had followed him hastily up into his room and they got to know the pleasures of Victoria’s Secret shows together. It was an undeniably bonding experience, all three of them staring at the computer screen, their mouths agape. He had never thought before that women’s lingerie could be _this_ exciting in his short, 13-year-old life. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the computer screen.

 

Zayn remembered the feeling of being overwhelmed. The sense of completeness of the show – everything from the lights, the scene, music, to the colour-coordinated outfits of the models was amazing. They had soon watched every video and record available online, and while his friends stuck to watching Victoria’s Secret shows, Zayn had started perusing the web in the search of other fashion shows, curious if they would impress him just as much. Soon, he had found out all about the various fashion weeks, the highly-esteemed fashion houses and designers, and he kept on learning more and more, never bored or tired of it.

 

Around that time, he had also started watching out more for what he was wearing, yearning to create his own style, wanting to make a statement with his clothes. His mum had whined and complained that he never liked anything she bought for him anymore, until one time she gave him more than his usual pocket money and told him to just go and get the clothes himself. Zayn had been elated, almost immediately getting lost in thought of what he could buy for himself and what to pair it with. But unfortunately it had quickly burnt away, as he had learned a tough lesson while shopping that the clothes he liked best were unaffordable to him. And this had got him thinking, if he could do something to the clothes he could buy to make them more fashion-forward, to make them be more personal.

 

What he also remembered was all the times he had been watching fashion shows by himself, drooling more over the male models and their outfits, than over the female models the older he got. It didn’t take him long to realise that he wasn’t admiring them strictly platonically, considering how his jeans seemed definitely too tight halfway through menswear section of the shows.

 

“What do you seen in those guys?” Ant had asked him one time, and he was so out of it that he had jumped in his seat, not having noticed that he had joined him.

 

“What?” He squeaked out, frantically searching for a plausible explanation that he could serve to his friend.

 

Ant had nodded towards the TV, which was then displaying summer looks for men. It didn’t help that half of them was wearing only shorts or bathing shorts. “You’re staring at them so intently,” Ant elaborated.

 

Zayn swore until today that he had blushed all the way to the roots of his hair. “Uh, I-uh, I like fashion?”

 

Even as he heard himself saying that, he knew how it sounded. Ant measured him with a look and then sat down next to him on the couch.

 

David Gandy strutted down the catwalk next. Zayn’s breath caught, and a tiny gasp escaped his lips. He froze.

 

“You know,” Ant said softly, “it’s okay if you like him. Looks good”. Zayn turned to him and noticed that his friend was looking at him with a small smile.

 

“I- I don’t – ” Zayn stuttered, though he didn’t really know what he wanted to say.

 

“Relax,” Ant interrupted him, before he could begin tripping over his words in some explanation or another. “I’m just saying. It’d be alright.”

 

They watched the show in silence for a few more minutes, before Ant got up from the couch muttering about having left some tools on the lawn and made to leave.

 

“Ant?” Zayn called out softly, stopping his friend mid-track.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet, and before he knew it, Ant had him enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

 

So yes, fashion was a pretty big deal for Zayn Malik.

 

***

 

Harry had been living in his flat for a year.

 

Well, “living” might have been a bit of an exaggeration. More like – staying there in between the shoots and tumbling out of his friends’ beds. Which also happened to be the case now: he had arrived from New York earlier today as the shoots for spring/summer collection were to begin the next day, and being the face of Burberry’s campaigns for a year now he had to be there and take part in most of them.

 

He had been modelling since his early teens, when as a 13-year-old he was approached about becoming the face of TV ads.

 

He liked it, even if the shoots were sometimes exhausting, other times absolutely draining, or the photographers’ visions tended to be really hard on him – in terms of make up or posing.

 

He honestly liked the fashion world, and the fashion world seemed to like him back. He felt close to it and enjoyed working like this. He loved how much attention he got because of it, soaking it all up and always craving more. He was eighteen when he walked his first fashion show and it was an absolutely unforgettable experience for him, one that set his mind on staying a model for as long as possible.

 

The flashes, the designer clothes, the way everybody stared at him on the catwalk – Harry wanted it all. Of course, it wasn’t easy to start a career, to get things going, and he definitely wouldn’t have done it without his mum’s and step-dad’s help. They were the definition of supportive, encouraging parents since the day Harry announced he wanted to pursue a model career. Robin used to drive him to model agencies and castings, and his mum always made him feel better when he was close to stopping believing in himself, arranging his home-schooling when he started being really busy although not that successful at first, so that he could pass his A-levels.

 

He had worked his tiny ass off to be where he was now and he sure as hell wasn’t about to be apologetic for his success. It angered him to his limits when people reduced him to his pretty face. It was hard for him at first, dealing with opinions like this, but soon he gained a group of celeb friends who were some of the most down-to-earth people he had ever met. He was alright now – better than that, even. His career reached its peak, his friends were fiercely loyal to him and he learned not take everything to heart. He was stronger mentally and it paid him off in peace of mind.

 

Perhaps, being twenty and this successful in fashion should have made him feel more overwhelmed, but he grew up in the spotlight and he was used to it by now. Sometimes his grandma would worry about him, shaking her head with disdain, saying that he had to grow up too fast, with too much going on. And maybe that was true, but Harry didn’t regret a moment of it, even if it made him become a different person – more tough around the edges and dead-set on achieving goals.

 

He yawned and stretched, meandering around his different bags which he tended to leave anywhere and then consequently proceeded to trip over them while putting away his things – his usual coming home ritual. He gave up, as always, somewhere in the middle of emptying his second suitcase, opting for turning in early.

 

Oh well, beauty sleep was more important anyway, right?

 

***

 

The thing with filming a programme was that it had a strict schedule and required waking up early, sometimes for a few days in a row. It was the third day of filming in a row today and it was taking its toll on Zayn – he was awfully tired. And so, he barely paid any attention to his surroundings, and followed his fellow contestants to an ‘undisclosed location’ they were to meet Tim Gunn at today, dragging through the pavement his Doc Martens clad feet heavily.

 

He didn’t register it at first that the group came to a stop and kept on walking until he stumbled into Dixon, who just looked at him and smiled understandingly, sunglasses perched on his nose. After a few minutes Zayn finally lifted his gaze from his coffee cup to see what the location was – they were at the gates of Burberry fashion house. A pretty big deal, then. He glanced at his fellow competitors – all of them seemed excited. He was, too, of course, he just currently lacked the energy to show it.

 

“How are you today, designers?”

 

“Good,” people around Zayn muttered. He just looked around unconsciously. He didn't get much sleep last night and not enough caffeine had made it into his system yet.

 

“Designers, welcome to the one and only Burberry fashion house!” Tim Gunn exclaimed and clapped his hands once. Zayn would have joined him in his excitement, had he slept better last night. “This is the place heavily connected with your new challenge, as I’m sure you’ve already gathered,” he paused and measured them with a look from behind his glasses. “Today, a photoshoot for their spring/ summer lookbook takes place right here. Your task is to get inspired and create a cohesive look for the collection. The winning look will get produced _and_ will be featured in the newest lookbook.” People around him gasped and cheered.

 

“But that’s not all,” Tim continued when the cheers faded away. “Six of you will work on the menswear and another six will handle womenswear.”

 

The responding collective whine said it all. Tim was clutching the velvet bag of doom.

 

“Don’t look so annoyed,” he chastised them. “It’s only fair to draw lots, it’s the most objective way of choosing we could think of,” he justified, but Zayn and others were just staring at him impassively. “Now, now, no need to be so pessimistic about it – this could be your chance to grow! Expand your horizons!” When still no one reacted to his words, Tim just sighed. “Okay. Livia, you won the last challenge, so you can go first.”

 

They drawing lots one by one, some jumping in joy when they drew womenswear, others going away with their shoulders slumped clutching in fists the piece of paper saying ‘ _menswear_ ’. Zayn was probably the only person here praying for the latter, and it just so happened that when his turn came, the piece he fished out of the bag said –

 

“Menswear! Yassss!” He exclaimed and the others looked at him weirdly. He moved behind them quickly, perplexed.

 

“You are allowed to go backstage – observe, interact within reason and get inspired!” Tim addressed them one more time, ignoring the sour looks almost half of the designers was sending his way. “You will have two days to come up with and complete a cohesive look for the collection. After the visit you will have thirty minutes to sketch and then we’ll head of to but your supplies. Your time starts now!”

 

***

 

The fashion house turned out to not be as intimidating as one could have thought. It was spacious, but aside from that nothing overly special or unique. A big building, modernised to suit its owner needs. They weren't given a time limit, so Zayn took his time taking it all in. Zayn loved how the interior embraced the past, the aesthetic of its day and age, but also gave off a clean, modern vibe at the same time.

 

This could be it for him, his future, he thought. Designing for a renowned fashion house.  A dream, really. So he was looking around himself carefully. He decided to climb the stairs, remembering that the photo shoot was supposed to be held there. A grumpy looking lad ran past him, muttering to himself something about divas.

 

Zayn looked after him, always curious about what made people tick and what it was to work with personalities with the capital “p”. Was the photographer not in the mood? Was one of the models mean and condescending? He let himself wonder for a short while before resuming climbing the stairs, thinking that he was probably about find all of that out as he reached the door of the room the photoshoot was taking place in.

 

***

 

“What do you mean you _didn’t_ get me my semi-skimmed almond latte?” Harry asked pinching at the bridge of his nose. The assistant of the photoshoot was apparently an ignorant dick, unable to get him his _usual_ coffee of the month right and having the audacity to present him with this abomination – pure black with cardamom ( _so last year_ ).

 

Morons, all of them.

 

“Why am I even paying you?”

 

“I didn’t know it would be such a problem – ”

 

“Me neither,” Harry snarled cutting the guy off and pushed the coffee cup away, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close the edge. “Get it away from me, I can’t stand its smell!”

 

The assistant rolled his eyes, but fetched the coffee anyway. Harry sighed exaggeratedly and sloped in his chair. He had asked the MUA for a coffee break and now he was beginning to regret it, and the shoot hadn’t even started! What a nightmare.

 

“I still want my coffee,” he said calmly in the general direction of the assistant. “Try to get it right this time,” he commented loftily.

 

“Roger that,” the assistant muttered and turned on his heel, leaving the room in a few strides. Good, Harry thought, he should be hurried.

 

“Harry? Can we go on with the make up?”

 

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” he waved his hand. At least the make-up artist was professional.

 

“You exude annoyance, sweetheart. What happened?”

 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he shrugged.

 

“We can’t have you frowning after I apply the foundation on you, you know how difficult it gets to fix the creases appearing because of it.”

 

Harry chuckled at this comment. He was glad Lou was assigned to him, as she always was at the top of her game. He settled himself more comfortably and was just about to tell her that they could start, when a movement on the other side of the room caught his eye. Some people appeared there, and one guy stood out amongst them – his elegant stance and intriguing profile pointing Harry’s mind in one direction.

 

“Lou?” He asked, not looking away from him.

 

“Yeah, honey?”

 

“Are any other male models coming in today, other than Miles and I?”

 

“None that I’ve heard of,” she replied shaking her head.

 

“Huh.” Maybe Christopher wanted to surprise them? Add someone last minute into the mix? Looking at him Harry wouldn’t even be mad if this turned out to be true. This guy was a bloody state-of-the-art!

 

“You could come over and see what it’s all about for yourself, if you want,” Lou suggested softly.

 

If Harry had been a cartoon character, a glint would have appeared in his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll do just that.”

 

Lou smirked. “I’m almost done with your hair, give me a couple minutes and you can go satisfy your curiosity.”

 

“I’m not curious!” Harry exclaimed indignantly. “I’m just… caught off guard.”

 

Lou just measured him with a meaningful look and didn’t say anything else, focusing on getting his hair done.

 

As soon as she gave him a pat on his shoulder, signalling he was ready to go, he was out of his chair and on the other side of the room in a few strides.

 

***

 

“Have we met before?” Zayn heard someone next to him say and he would have laughed out loud at that probably, if it wasn’t the one and only Harry Styles standing right next to him.

 

And so he only snorted and muttered, “I thought you guys would have better pick up lines.”

 

Harry laughed throatily, throwing his head back and showing off the perfect line of his throat. Zayn used to have very sinful thoughts about this particular neck. Well. He still did.

 

“You’re funny, I like it,” Harry said and threw a wink his way for a good measure, that left Zayn both flustered and completely bemused. “You a model?” He heard Harry ask before he could start feeling awkward in his own skin at meeting someone so out of his league, and this time he didn’t fight the sarcastic laugh that escaped his lips. _Seriously?_ He wasn’t sure if he should grace such a question with any answer, really.

 

“Zayn! Are you coming?” Livia called out from the other side of the room, saving him from having to come up with an excuse to ditch Harry Styles (how impossible is that??). Zayn turned her way.

 

“Yeah, right away!” He called back. He glanced at Harry once again and with a mumbled _excuse me_ he was out of the room.

 

Only when he finished sketching did he let himself have a freak-out slash fanboy moment at seeing his model-crush in person. Even if he was overconfident and had poor pick up lines, that made Zayn cringe. Still. A crush.

 

***

 

Even back at the design school, Zayn was still thinking about his short encounter with Harry and emotions that it unleashed in him. Everything from the curl of his lips when he smirked, to his annoyingly good proportions irked something in Zayn. He had been crushing on Harry when he first hit the catwalks, and although he would never admit it out loud, he followed the developments of his career closely. Unable to shake it off, Zayn got to work, putting all these emotions, thoughts and impressions into his garment.

 

Every seam and every cut, was coming out of his hand quickly and energetically.

 

“Zayn,” Tim Gunn said when he approached him. “You seem to be in a frenzy,” he observed.

 

He looked up from where he was steaming the pleats on the almost finished shirt, stray wisps of hair falling into his eyes. “Do I?”

 

“Yes,” a chorus of voices around him sounded. Tim nodded. “And it’s… different. Who knew you had all this energy in you?”

 

“Well,” Zayn scratched at his neck, not knowing what to say to that. He only knew that he needed to get back to work two seconds ago, or whatever got into him today would slip out of his grasp and never come back again. Tim seemed to notice that.

 

“Keep working,” he said lifting his arms up and left his desk to check up on others.

 

Zayn soon tuned the room out, not even noticing when Tim left.

 

***

 

After a rather frantic finish, they managed to complete their looks and accessorise them, and they were ushered by Tim into the room with the runway. They barely had a minute to settle on the stools there before Heidi walked out to greet them.

 

“As you know in fashion one day you’re in, and the next day you’re out,” she started with the most iconic phrase of the show. “We have a special guest today, that will help us fish out the best look. Please, welcome face of the Burberry, the “it” model of Europe, the one and only – Harry Styles!”

 

Harry bowed courteously in his seat and Zayn and other designers waved and clapped. . He looked amazing today, clad in skin-tight, white and dark blue striped jeans, paired with a sheer black shirt, his hair put up in a bun. Zayn touched his own bun self-consciously.

 

“We will score your designs as they come down the runway,” Heidi continued. “One of you will be named the winner and one of you will be out.”

 

The show passed in a blur for Zayn, who couldn’t focus on anything else but the way Harry scrunched his eyebrows in thought and kept on chewing on his bottom lip as he jotted some notes down appraising the looks that their models presented. He didn’t even pay attention when his model hit the runway, only noticing him when he blew a kiss Harry’s way. Harry arched his eyebrow, but other than that he didn’t react to this.

 

After the last look had been presented, they were ushered out of the room to give the jury time to discuss how each of them coped with the challenge and make the decision about the best and the worst look. It was pretty nerve-wracking, every time they had to wait like this the minutes seemed to drag on as if they were hours. This time was not different and all of them jumped and rushed out when they were called back in.

 

“Harry, would you like to read out the verdict?” Heidi asked when they lined up on the runway. Even in the harsh light necessary for the cameras, both Heidi and Harry looked unfairly good. Zayn supposed that it was a part of why they were such great models.

 

“With pleasure,” he answered and smiled winningly, sitting a bit straighter. “Livia. We loved your coat. It was sophisticated and in-style with the collection.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Seriously. I’ve actually texted Cara a photo of your look and she’s just texted me back that she’d wear it in a heartbeat.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re in. You can leave the runway.”

 

Livia smiled one more time, waved to Harry and left the room, skipping every other step.

 

“Zayn,” his name was called out next. He looked up straight into the model’s eyes. Harry was staring at him with such intensity that he felt a shiver ran down his back. “Your look was complete and polished. There is no doubt that it belongs with the collection.” He made a dramatic pause and as much as Zayn used to laugh at these pauses and the music accompanying that was later montaged into this moment of the show, he didn’t feel as sarcastic now. “Congratulations – you are the winner of this challenge!” Harry’s face split into an easy grin and Zayn couldn’t help but grin back.

 

“Thank you,” he said to the jury, though his eyes never left Harry’s.

 

“You can leave the runway,” Heidi reminded and only then did he move. He left with a skip in his step, just like Livia did. He won! He wanted to shout about it, so that everyone heard. He felt really proud of himself and that felt so good. He ran into the greenroom and straight into Livia’s arms.

 

“You won! I knew it!” She exclaimed and hugged him excitedly. “Hey, remember when you were in the bottom three?”

 

“How could I forget?” Zayn gasped. “ _Zayn, you need to step things up, because next time your cheekbones ain’t gonna cut it!_ ”He rendered in higher pitch, going for an imitation of Nina Garcia. Quite successful at that, if Livia’s laughter was anything to go by.

 

Winning felt _awesome_. Zayn was on cloud nine.

 

***

 

“Zayn!”

 

He heard his name being called out. He turned on his heel only to notice Harry Styles approaching him.

 

“I’m glad I’ve caught you! I was afraid you might be gone already,” he started. “I wanted to congratulate you off the cameras. Your look gave me chills.”

 

Zayn blinked, entranced by how young and excited Harry was coming off now, completely different from what he had seen of him so far.

 

“Thanks,” Zayn said. His ego got quite a boost and Harry was really charming. It was hard for Zayn to remember why exactly it would be such a bad idea to fall to his knees right then and there.

 

“So, we’ll have a photo shoot together,” Harry said and Zayn looked at him, confused. Harry chuckled – and what a wonderful sound that was! “When I’m wearing your look, I mean. You’ll be on the set as well, obviously.”

 

 _Obviously_. This was Zayn’s trial. Fate was trying him.

 

“We should exchange our phone numbers,” Harry continued and he sounded so confident, it almost seemed like he ordered Zayn to give him his number.

 

“We should?”

 

“You don’t think so?” He sounded a little bit disappointed. Zayn wondered if he had imagined it.

 

“I – yeah, sure.” He nodded and got his phone out and handed it to him. Harry was in the industry. Surely, it counted as networking?

 

Harry quickly tapped himself into his contacts and sent an empty message to his number. “All done,” he announced not even a minute later. “Wanna go grab drinks? On me, of course. It’s only fair since you won.”

 

Harry’s voice couldn’t be more matter-of-fact, while Zayn had a feeling his eyes were bulging out of their sockets. “I – uh,” he stammered, getting more nervous under Harry’s gaze. “Thank you, really, but I’m absolutely knackered and the thing I want most right now is to have a hot shower and then hop into bed, and sleep,” he smiled sheepishly.

 

Harry’s face fell a bit. “Oh. Okay. Sure. Yeah,” if Zayn wasn’t embarrassed himself he would have spared a few seconds to think that he wasn’t the only person nervous here and maybe wonder what that could possibly imply. But as it was, he found himself unable of focusing on anything other than Harry’s eyes.

 

Zayn stopped a few meters away and watched Harry leave. He didn’t drive here on his own, it appeared, as he put his phone to his ear just outside the entrance of the studios. Zayn’s heart skipped a beat, his phone suddenly seeming unbearably heavy in his pocket. It didn’t start ringing, though, and he scolded himself mentally – maybe Harry wasn’t as keen on getting to know him as it seemed. He began feeling a bit like a stalker and made to leave again, only to see a black range rover drive past him quickly and stop next to Harry with a screech of the tires. Zayn simply had to see who it was, so he stooped pretending to be doing up his laces and watched.

 

A tall, quiffed guy got out of the car without turning the engine off. He went straight to Harry and they greeted each other cheerfully, with Harry smacking a loud kiss on his cheek.

 

Zayn felt his ears burn. He stood up and snorted inwardly at his naïveté – everyone in the world knew that when it came to people Harry Styles’ attention span lasted about all of twenty minutes. He had read all about his numerous love conquests, why would meeting Zayn be any different for him? He felt silly and he hated it. So he put on his headphones, drawn his hood up and headed straight to join other contestants in the hotel.

 

***

 

The day of the photo shoot came quicker than Zayn was comfortable with. His stomach was in knots, which was completely stupid – he had been leading an adult life for years now and he was perfectly capable of dealing with situations like these. Maybe it was a bit unusual, but it wasn’t all that unique.

 

Who was he kidding, it totally was.

 

He had put truly ridiculous amounts of effort into his look, pulling all of the tricks he had learned and tested over the years, complete with the charcoal kohl on the line of his lashes. He glanced one last time into the mirror, giving himself a critique once-over, and stepped back into the room to grab his satchel and sewing kit.

 

A wolf-whistle reached him form the side where sleepy Dixon was leaning against the wall, scratching idly at his abdomen.

 

“Look at you, Ferrari!” He exclaimed after looking him up and down unashamedly. “You’re making me feel twice as gay and lemme tell you, loverboy, there ain’t a straight bone in this body.”

 

Zayn rolled his eyes at him, but smiled fondly nonetheless. “Good day to you, too, Dixon.” He didn’t know if it was intentional on the part of his fellow contestant or not, but it calmed his nerves considerably.

 

“Coffee?”

 

Zayn shook his head. “Gotta go, cab should be waiting already.”

 

“Alrighty then, have fun! And don’t forget to steal a kiss from Harry Styles for me,” he winked, then wiggled his eyebrows for a good measure. Zayn felt his face heat up but grabbed a hold of himself pretty quickly.

 

“I’ll grope him for you, too, how’s about that?” He commented wryly.

 

“You, sir, are a mindreader!” Dixon looked absolutely delighted by his suggestion. “Now, chop chop, we wouldn’t want you to be late.”

 

“Bye Dixon.” He smiled and waved.

 

“Byeeee,” Dixon sing-songed and waved back.

 

When he stepped into the room where the shoot was to take place, it was already hustling and bustling despite the early hour. It made him feel a little silly that he whined about having to wake up at the crack of dawn, when obviously all of these people had to do so even earlier. He scratched at the back of his neck nervously, trying to take it all in and decide where he should have headed to.

 

“Mr. Malik?”

 

He turned to see the familiar face of the assistant who had been working during their challenge. He smiled, happy to see someone who he at least recognised.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Would you like some coffee?”

 

“I, uh, actually – yes, please,” he stammered.

 

“I’ll bring it to you in a minute. If you step over there – it’s the main preparation area. You’ll have some place there to set up whatever you need.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“We’re almost ready to begin, Mr. Styles is already getting his make-up done.”

 

Harry. Right.

 

“That’s, uh – great.”

 

The assistant just smiled at him. “I’ll back with your coffee in a mo.” Zayn nodded and dragged himself over to the corner that was currently unoccupied. He didn’t want to chance someone yelling at him for taking up someone’s space. He set down his things on small table and looked around the room again, calmer now that he didn’t feel like an intruder so much.

 

Not even ten minutes later Harry came over to him. “Zayn,” he nodded at him in greeting, sounding all business-like for the first time since he met him. Zayn felt a little thrown off guard.

 

“Hello Harry,” he responded, fiddling with the bags containing his garments. Harry came to stand next to him. He was wearing only a simple white T-shirt with a loose neckline and gray skinny jeans, but still managed to look stunning – Zayn noted, glancing to his side.

 

“Can I change already or do you still need to do anything?” Harry asked from where he was checking out the pieces of the look.

 

“You can change,” Zayn nodded. “Then we’ll see if anything needs to be altered.”

 

Harry nodded once and took his T-shirt right away. Zayn pointedly looked to the other side, intent on giving him some privacy while he was putting on his garment. Well, and maybe because it would have tempted him too much. But _shhh_ about that.

 

He busied himself with putting away the empty bags, and before he noticed Harry cornered him, towering over him in a way that made him weak in the knees. Harry wasn’t touching him, but if he wanted to go away, he would surely brush against him.

 

Not that he minded.

 

“Are there any adjustments necessary, Mr. Malik?” Harry said lowly, so that only Zayn could hear him. Zayn knew exactly what Harry was playing at, but gave him a once over nonetheless.

 

“Do you feel like you need something to be adjusted?” He played along, his voice coming out breathy. Harry smiled wickedly.

 

“I’m not sure about the fit around my bum? If you could take a look at that?” He suggested and before Zayn could do anything, he was bending over the counter slightly, pushing his hips out Zayn’s way, just so the curve of his bum was . It occurred to him that if he crouched, Harry’s butt would be right in his face, and just thinking about that he had to hold back a groan.

 

Allah, have mercy.

 

He stooped a bit, running his fingers along the seams and just barely resisting the urge to grab a handful and massage it.

 

He dropped his hands and cleared his throat. “Everything seems fine,” he said a bit louder, not risking glancing around for now. He hoped that everyone else was to caught up in their own work to notice what was going on.

 

Unlike MUA, his presence was required until the end of the shoot, lest something happened to the outfit, and it turned out to be an unexpected torture. It didn’t help that Zayn was undeniably and quite helplessly attracted to him.

 

It was hard watching Harry in his element – he was the personification of professionalism, all focused and following the photographer’s guide. He wasn’t the nicest to everyone around him, huffing in annoyance from time to time, but it could only be his temper. Other than that, he allowed for no distractions and Zayn was kind of impressed.

 

The way he posed and worked, like there was nothing more important in this very moment – it reminded Zayn a lot of how he liked to worked. Harry was very focused and it seemed that just like him once he got into a certain mindset, a bubble of sorts, he kept on working and doing his best.

 

And _boy_ , did he do it well! Zayn couldn’t tear his eyes from him even if he tried. Zayn’s garment looked marvellous on him and it was clear from the way he moved in it, that he felt good in it and that made Zayn even more happy and proud of himself for creating something like this.

 

The shoot was nearing to an end and the photographer asked Harry to strike some more sultry poses to give them a range and wrap things up in one shoot. Nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

 

Harry looked him straight in the eye before unbuttoning the shirt all the way and standing straight with his feet apart, sending a ‘come hither’ look first his way and then to the camera. Zayn was honestly worried his knees might give away.

 

“Perfect, Haz!” The photographer exclaimed. “I think we’ve got it. We can finish the shoot.”

 

After his words the room erupted in claps in cheers and then it got busy again, which Zayn was incredibly grateful for. It gave him a chance to get a hold of himself. It was quite embarrassing, how hot it had made him. He wandered off to the corner, where he had first set up his things, happy to be left alone.

 

It didn’t last as long as he would have wished, though, Harry appearing next to him within seconds.

 

“Did you like it?” Harry asked vaguely, perching on the edge of the table and successfully cutting off Zayn’s only escape route. His heart thumped in chest like a drum, the way it always did when he was sure something was bound to happen. He lifted his gaze to look at Harry fully and before he knew it they were kissing, hidden only by a rack full of clothes, everyone else too busy tidying up to check up on them.

 

Harry’s mouth was so incredibly soft on his that Zayn felt as if he could melt at the touch. Harry was placing light, but wet kisses all over lips, poking his tongue teasingly into the corners of his mouth. His closeness was making him feel so unsteady on his feet, that he grabbed Harry’s thighs to keep himself upright, and opened his mouth to Harry’s clever tongue. Both of them gasped when their velvet-smooth tongues met, Harry massaging Zayn’s tongue with his expertly. Zayn would be lying if he said that it felt anything short of heavenly.

 

Soon, Harry’s hands creeped up his chest to his neck and he pulled him down against his lips more forcefully, deepening the kiss and drawing a quiet moan out of Zayn. Zayn squeezed at his thighs in response and let his hands wander – one to the inside of Harry’s thighs, the other to grab his butt, which caused him to gasp and Zayn used this opportunity to take control over the kiss, moving his tongue in and out of mouth, mimicking the rhythm of fucking.

 

Harry liked it very much, if the way he grasped at Zayn and arched into his touch was any indication.

 

They broke the kiss eventually, both panting and gasping for a breath, their lips swollen and slick with saliva. At this moment Zayn thought that there couldn’t exist anything more beautiful in the world than red-cheeked and swollen-lipped Harry. He smiled softly and leant down so that their foreheads were touching. Harry smiled back at him and let his arms fall from his neck, his hands staying on Zayn’s heaving chest. Zayn wondered if he felt as hot to the touch for Harry, or if his mind was tricking him.

 

“Harry, are you ready?” Someone called out, before Zayn could ask him anything. Harry hopped of the table and stepped out of the corner to wave to the person there.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec!” He responded and when they heard the door click shut he dived back in to pull on a blazer and grab his bag. Zayn just stood where Harry had dragged him earlier, frozen and not quite comprehending what had just happened.

 

Harry kissed him again, just a soft peck on his mouth this time. “Call me,” he said against his lips and with one last squeeze and smile, he left.

 

***

 

_Hey Zayn! It’s Harry. What are u up to? xx._

***

 

_You doing anything this weekend? xx._

 

***

 

_Heyyyyy, why don’t u talk to meeee ;(_

 

***

 

Zayn had always had this uncanny ability of running into people in the most unexpected places. It hadn’t happened to him for quite some time, but apparently it was still there, as Zayn was currently getting his face out of none other’s but Harry Styles’ sweater. _Classy_ , he thought as he sputtered the fluff from the wool that caught on his lips.

 

“Hello Zayn,” Harry drawled, an amused expression etched on his face. Zayn pouted. “What a coincidence, innit?” He leaned against the counter and for a moment Zayn wished he had a professional camera with him. The way he looked left no doubt as to why he was a model. Zayn quickly shook out of it and greeted him, too.

 

“Hi Harry.”

 

“You haven’t answered any of my texts.” So. Apparently Harry wasn’t the type of person to beat around the bush.

 

“I… haven’t?” Zayn stalled. Harry gave him a cold, measured look. Zayn hated how it made him feel small and awfully offensive at the same time. It was true, he didn’t write to Harry at all, but he had been so busy with the program lately, that he barely had time to contact his family! Surely, Harry should have understood that. (Even if it wasn’t the real reason why he hadn’t contacted him).

 

“Yeah. Well. Whatever,” Harry drawled and turned on his heel, going in the direction of the café’s entrance.

 

Harry was a dick. Harry was a diva. And a manipulative bastard at that. Zayn could enumerate all these and much more without giving it a second thought. Then why the hell did he feel like a jerk now?

 

“Harry, wait!” He called out and ran over to him. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been terribly busy, you know?”

 

Harry arched his eyebrow at him. “Those reasons seem pretty fabricated to me.”

 

Zayn blinked. “Did you just – ”

 

Despite earlier anger, Harry looked smug. “Yes, I’ve just pulled that one out of my sleeve.”

 

Zayn groaned. “Is this what I get for not writing to you? Is this my punishment?”

 

“Punishment?” Harry asked, intoning the word unnaturally high. “I’ll just have to keep on, until you’re bursting at the seams,” he continued, studying his nails ostentatiously and biting the inside of his cheek. Zayn was close to headbutting his head into his chest again. His very nice, _firm_ chest – he shook his head at himself. Now was _not_ the time for thoughts like this.

 

“What can I do to make you stop?” He asked instead and looked straight into Harry’s eyes.

 

He measured him with a look again and pursed his lips. “Wine and dine me,” he finally announced, the brave words underlined with apprehension.

 

“Uh, I don’t really have time for this right now,” Zayn started, smiling apologetically. “But we could stay for a coffee now?”

 

Harry huffed exaggeratedly and raised his eyes faux-resigned. “Fine, let’s call it a tie.”

 

Zayn hit his forehead with his hand and Harry all but _giggled_ next to him, obviously very pleased with himself, dimples on show. He looked so cute that Zayn could only shake his head and let it drop.

 

Sitting with Harry and chatting over coffee turned out to be quite a pleasant experience. Zayn found himself smiling almost all the time.

 

“Is this Saint Laurent?” He asked pointing to Harry’s shirt, which he left unbuttoned distractingly low.

 

Harry nodded and licked his lips. Zayn couldn’t help but tracked the way his tongue swept over his lips.

 

“Yeah. My friends laugh at me, say that I’m a self-appointed ambassador of YSL on the English soil with how much of my closet is made up of it.”

 

Zayn wiggled his eyebrows. “Fancy.”

 

Harry turned his head to the side, smiling lightly. Zayn couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he looked particularly cute today, inexplicably even with the cleavage he was sporting.

 

“I reckon I’d be wearing things like this shirt even if I wasn’t rich. I mean, I suppose so, I feel like they’re not only clothes? It probably sounds stupid, but – ”

 

“No, I totally get you,” Zayn interrupted him, quick to reassure him. “I was always trying to get my clothes to look certain way – the way I felt about myself and about the world – way before I even knew how to properly alter them, without destroying them in the process.”

 

“That’s very design-y of you,” Harry commented with such warmth in his voice that Zayn started wondering why exactly he hadn’t replied to any of his messages. Harry’s snort got him out his thoughts. “Great, now I’m imagining teenage Zayn on a rampage with a pair of scissors in his hand.”

 

It startled a laugh out of him. It was quite amazing how actually funny Harry was, when he wasn’t trying. They were sipping on their coffees, talking about one thing or another, until Harry’s phone rung. He shot an adorably apologetic look Zayn’s way before picking up.

 

“What’s up, hot stuff?” Harry started, the flirt mode on. The change was so abrupt that Zayn looked away. Granted, he didn’t know who he was talking to, but something about his tone and stance rubbed him the wrong way. He busied himself with mauling the paper cup.

 

“Yeah, sure, I just stopped for a coffee,” he was saying to whoever was on the other side. “Sure, yeah, I’ll just grab a cab. Yeah. Bye.” He swiped his phone shut and turned back in his seat. “Zayn?”

 

He looked up from the now shredded pieces of what was his cup a few minutes ago.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Sorry, I have to go now,” Harry said and he really looked sorry. “We’ll catch each other another time?” He suggested as he stood up.

 

Zayn nodded, but made no move to leave his seat. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“Great.” Harry hesitated for a moment, and then leant down and kissed his cheek. “Have a nice day,” he said softly before straightening up and leaving the coffee shop.

 

Zayn pretended not to watch his retreating form.

 

***

 

_I’m going out of London, don’t miss me too much ;) see you when I get back! H. xx._

 

***

 

_How’s it going? R U still in the programme? (dunno if u can confirm???) xx._

 

***

 

“So,” Zayn spoke up, getting the attention of the other two finalists – Livia and Dixon, “that’s it, right? We’re coming back to our homes and designing ourselves away?” He asked scratching at the back of his neck.

 

“I guess so,” Dixon muttered from where he was lying down, exhausted, on the hotel bed.

 

“Let’s go unwind today,” Livia suggested, jumping out of the chair she was sitting in.

 

“Unwind?” Zayn raised one of his eyebrows in doubt.

 

“Yeah, you know – hit the clubs, get trashed…” she trailed off, playing with a strand of her emerald hair.

 

“I’m in!” Dixon exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

 

“Me too,” Zayn nodded.

 

Thankfully, being who they were, all of them liked being dressed up, so Zayn took his sweet time styling his hair, just the way he liked it – once again, he was super satisfied with his new haircut. They stopped at the off-licence on their way to the club and downed a beer each.

 

“Hi,” someone close to him said. Zayn glanced sideways swiftly only to see none other than Harry Styles occupying a stool next to him.

 

“Well, well, well,” Zayn mused, Dutch courage propelling him on. “If it isn’t the face of Burberry!”

 

Harry’s smile turned a bit wry. “Yeah, about that, Christopher Bailey obviously picked the wrong guy.”

 

“What do you mean?” Zayn asked, frowning hard. He was already a couple of drinks in and hidden meanings didn’t sit with him all too well.

 

“I mean: look at yourself,” Harry answered rolling his eyes and reached for his drink.

 

“Not a model,” Zayn retorted, somewhat stubbornly.

 

“Yeah, I know that,” Harry commented dismissively. “It’s a shame, though,” he said after a minute and looked him in the eye before adding, “Zayn.”

 

The way his lips curled around his name made him feel weak in the knees. They stayed silent for a few moments, just sipping on their drinks and staring ahead at the dance floor.

 

“You never answered me. Again,” Harry said, a hint of accusation in his voice. If Zayn hadn’t been quite drunk already, he would have had the decency to say sorry and maybe even explain himself, but the way he was numbed, he just shrugged and leered at Harry, who was wearing a see-through shirt and impossibly tight black skinny jeans. Harry’s mouth’s corners quirked up as he noticed Zayn’s heated gaze.

 

“Wanna dance?” He asked and Zayn almost found himself wondering how even though it was him who was asking he still managed for it to come off as obnoxiously confident.

 

Which apparently was how Zayn liked them during the times of the slightly changed consciousness judging by the way his body reacted. So he nodded and bit his lip, which made Harry drag him to the dance floor and push him flat against him. The first few moves were awkward with how both of them wanted to lead but neither was coordinated enough. After a couple of tries they found a rhythm though, swaying on their feet and brushing their chests and legs together. Zayn looked up at Harry from hooded eyelids and found him staring back, with his mouth slightly agape. He looked just like on the photos he did for some jewellery company – all sensual and desirable.

 

Zayn couldn’t help but want a piece of that.

 

Harry was… intense. Everything, from the way he stared at you as if the universe revolved around you, to the way he seemed to hanging on to other people’s each and every word, was equally flattering and unnerving at the same time for Zayn. But he guessed it was a part of his magnetism, it lured people into him like moths to the fire.

 

So he kept on dancing with him, getting more and more daring with each passing minute. They were full on making out not long after they hit the dance floor and somehow making their way to the club’s toilets at the same time.

 

Harry shook his head. “You’re too good for a bathroom stall,” Zayn managed to gather from reading his lips and putting parts of sounds together.

 

“Am I?”

 

“Anyone is. Come on, let’s go to mine.”

 

Zayn found himself nodding before his slowed down brain could catch up and provide him reasons not to.

 

It didn’t surprise either of them, really, when at the end of the night they found themselves stumbling into Harry’s flat, hot mouths and eager hands roaming all over each other. He couldn’t remember the ride to Harry’s flat at all, what with how preoccupied he was with staring at Harry at trying to touch him all at once. He probably would have worried that he was coming off as needy, if Harry wasn’t behaving the same way.

 

“Harry,” Zayn moaned out when he bit at his throat, sucking on the skin there after. It took him a few moments to regain control over his body and to start giving back as good as he got.

 

They made it to Harry’s bedroom somehow and as soon as their legs hit the bed, they started clawing and pawing at each other with renewed enthusiasm, their only goal being to rid the other of clothes.

 

“Off, off, off,” Zayn whined pulling Harry’s jeans down his legs. He almost fell when he managed to free one of his legs and Harry erupted in giggles. “Heyyy, not funny,” he pouted. Harry only kissed him with more fervour after getting out of his jeans completely and his hands immediately fell to Zayn’s belt. He might have felt a bit out of breath at that.

 

Harry got them open with a practised ease and groped him inside of his boxers, brushing at the head of Zayn’s cock with a pad of his thumb. (Now he was most definitely out of breath).

 

“You’re so pretty,” Harry murmured before leaning down and pressing open-mouthed kisses all the way down his neck, effectively pinning Zayn down to bed. Zayn’s only reaction was to spread his legs – and what a good idea it was! Harry’s body was now pressing into his in all the right places and Zayn felt overwhelmed but safe at the same time, and if he moved his hips just a bit up and tightened his legs on his hips, he could hear Harry sigh from his erection brushing against his thighs where he was marking his collarbones. He would gladly surrender to this kind of treatment any day.

 

“What do you want?” Harry asked him softly, rubbing slow circles on his naked chest and tugging on his nipples from time to time.

 

“You,” he moaned out, arching his hips in a suggestive way. Harry groaned.

 

“Ask and you shall receive,” he heard him murmur before his finger started breaching his entrance, and how the hell was he still articulate at this point?

 

It was his last conscious thought, as Harry added another finger then and began to move them alternating paces and scissoring them every once in a while. The most wonderful thing was that Harry’s long fingers were brushing against his prostate everytime he jabbed them in as deep as he could. Zayn was putty in his hands, there wasn’t a bone in his body that wouldn’t bend for Harry. Hell, Zayn would let him bend him in two if he kept holding him this way.

 

“Harry,” he whined, feeling on the brink of coming. “In, in,” he rushed him, which resulted in Harry biting punishingly at his nipple, but abiding to his wishes anyway.

 

He was fucking him the same way he was preparing him, with clear desire but without urgent movements – all sensual drags of his manhood inside of him, strong, steady hands holding his hips down… Zayn was gasping for every other breath, digging his fingers into his biceps when he switched the speed of his thrusts once he found the perfect angle to keep hitting his prostate.

 

Zayn most probably was in heaven.

 

***

 

 

When Zayn woke up a few hours later, it was still dark outside. Well, as much dark as it can be with the street lighting. He looked to his right where Harry was snoring lightly, his hair splayed over the pillow – he looked almost unearthly illuminated by the dim street lights. Zayn gave himself a moment to admire him and to catalogue different little things that made Harry unforgettable. The sweet pout of his plush lips, soft pink right now, and Zayn wanted nothing more than to make them red with energetic kisses. He looked younger like this, no frown or sneer or attitude to make it seem other way. Zayn had a fleeting thought that he would like him better this way.

 

Eventually, he tore his hungry eyes away from him and left the bed as quietly as possible. He got dressed quickly and made to leave at once, but he hesitated in the doorway, taking one last glance at Harry. He spared a moment to consider leaving a note, but decided against it.

 

Harry woke up alone in bed.

 

Somehow, he wasn’t as neutral to it as he usually was. He rubbed at his chest absent-mindedly and pulled himself up into sitting position. He looked around himself.

 

Not a single thing indicated that there was someone with him here last night.

 

It felt empty.

 

***

 

Theoretically, three months to create a ten-look collection sounded like quite a lot of time, especially after the time-restrictions that he and the rest of the designers had been dealing with throughout the previous challenges. Coupled with nine thousand pounds to spend ( _nine thousand!_ It still made Zayn a bit dizzy), it definitely looked doable.

 

Zayn chose to come back to his family house rather than the tiny flat he’d been sharing with Danny. It felt right to be home again for this, with his family and closest friends around to support him.

 

Now that Zayn was sitting in his old living room though, chewing on his pencil and staring blankly ahead, he was starting to doubt that.

 

Almost a week went by and he still didn’t have even a single sketch. This One look that would be the most important piece of the collection, the one setting the tone and line of his further sketching and sewing.

 

He sighed and rubbed his face – he felt so uninspired it was painful.

 

And on top of that his traitorous brain kept on displaying images from his night with Harry instead of those of his signature looks.

 

He couldn’t understand why he was so hung up on a _one-night stand_. Sure, he had been crushing on Harry ever since he saw him in the H &M ad for teenage-wear, and then proceeded to follow his career closely, but really, it was all platonic. He was a designer and gay – it was obvious that he appreciated and admired handsome and talented models! This rationalisation made him feel a bit better, however it still didn’t explain why his thoughts kept on running to their night together.

 

He needed to get this out of his system – maybe getting trashed with his friends would help?

 

“Just look at him,” Zayn slurred shoving his phone in Ant’s face later that day, sprawled on his friend's couch. “Those luscious curls, those dimples! Who could resist that.”

 

“I don’t know man,” Ant murmured and took a hit of the joint Danny offered to him. “I could.”

 

Zayn frowned at this, hard. He felt as if something was slipping out of his seriously tenuous grasp on reality. Danny wasn’t paying any attention to them, too focused on choosing songs and singing along to them – he was now trying to add higher harmonies to _Power Trip_. Zayn wondered for a moment if the fact that he actually liked it was any indication of how trashed he was.

 

He turned to Ant, who was currently snooping around his phone disinterestedly. Zayn sighed loudly and leaned comfortably against the back of the couch. His head felt like he was swimming. He giggled at the thought – he couldn’t swim! But maybe his head could? He turned to Ant again, wanting to ask him about it, only to find him staring strangely at his phone’s screen.

 

“Vas’ happenin’?” Zayn asked, focusing on his friend and his vision was a little bit steadier.

 

Ant looked at him and then at the phone again. “You didn’t say that you took pics with the lover boy.”

 

Zayn laughed, sure that Ant was having him on and just keeping a straight face. He didn’t join him in laughing, though, and he felt his face fall. “What?” He asked incredulously, his voice going high, and Ant handed him his phone back.

 

Zayn groaned. There was – there _were_ numerous photos of him and Harry posing together. To make matters worse, they were selfies, judging by the angle, of him with Harry doing different facial expressions and poses and _when did that even happen?_

 

He didn’t delete the photos, though, opting instead to move them into a password protected folder.

 

***

 

_Zayn turned in Harry’s arms and stood up on his tiptoes to reach his ear. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he said loudly. Harry nodded, his hair moving expressively. “I’ll come with ya!” He exclaimed and took Zayn’s hand in his._

_They went outside of the club and leaned against the wall, close by the door. Zayn took out his cigarettes._

_“Mind if I bum one?” Harry asked, talking straight into his ear, his hot breath causing goose bumps to appear on Zayn’s skin._

_“Sure,” he answered, his voice surprisingly steady._

_They smoked in silence, breathing out smoke in long huffs. Harry couldn’t help glancing his way every so often, until he finally blurted out, “Can I take a photo of you?”_

_Zayn shrugged at first, then nodded. He was in a very agreeable mood._

_“Very model-ish,” Harry complimented him, looking up from his phone. “Look, you’ve got that ‘I’m too sexy for you, mortals’ thing going on.”_

_Zayn obediently looked, leaning down so much that his head hit Harry’s chest. It rumbled with laughter at that and Zayn turned his face a bit and bit his nipple through his shirt. Harry gasped._

_“You minx!” He exclaimed and tugged at his hair. Zayn moved up, with neither of them moving away, and they ended up chest to chest. “Think we should get some together,” Zayn muttered against his cheek._

_“Defini-, define-, ugh, sure!” Harry stumbled through the words. Zayn pulled out his phone, then, and fiddled with it to switch on the camera. The task was made harder by Harry’s body pressing to his side, his breath ghosting his cheek. He finally managed to get a hold of it and hoisted his arm up._

_“Alright, it’s ready,” he said._

_“Okay, let’s do this!” Harry sounded overly excited. Maybe it was a model thing, Zayn wondered – this instant readiness to be photographed?_

_Anyway, he didn’t care._

 

***

 

When Zayn woke up the next day, it was with a renewed strength and determination. He put on some clothes quickly and after grabbing a mug of coffee, he closed himself in his studio-space. If Harry managed to ingrain himself into Zayn’s brain this tightly, he wasn’t going to fight it but use it to his advantage. There was everything in his appearance that Zayn wanted to encompass in his collection – long, elegant lines, and softness that had some hard edges and sophisticated angles.

 

He plugged in a projector and started casting different photos of Harry on the wall of his bedroom. There were photos not only from their encounter a few days ago but also his other shots that Zayn had saved for himself throughout his career, coming from various fashion shows and campaigns Harry had participated in.

 

The effect was better than he had expected – the colours seemed more pastel and watercolour, and they had a great feel to them. They made for such a great palette that Zayn immediately felt that it was _it_ for his collection.

 

He grabbed a brand new sketch book, feeling the need for a clean start, without previous ideas marring his current vision. He sat down and began drawing, starting out with shapes and structures that would serve as a basis for all of his looks.

 

He was so engrossed in it, he didn’t even notice, that it had got dark outside.

 

“Zayn? Are you alive in there?” He heard his mum call through the door. He glanced up from the sketchbook noticing that it got dark outside. His stomach rumbled.

 

“Yes! I’m coming out to eat something,” he called back. His mum chuckled.

 

“Alright, come to the kitchen, I’ll wait for you”

 

“Oh, you’re here,” his mum smiled at him. “Have you been working today?”

 

Zayn nodded excitedly – his head was full of ideas and he felt that he was in a really good place, both mentally and physically, to be able to create a satisfying collection. “Yeah,” he answered. “I think I got my inspiration back.”

 

“That’s good, baby. That’s really good.” She reached out and squeezed his hand, smiling warmly at him. Zayn felt even better. “You don’t even know how happy it makes me, to see you doing what you love and getting recognised for it.”

 

He looked down, embarrassed. He never truly learned how to take a compliment, especially from people close to him. “It’s not this big of a deal right now, mum.”

 

“But you are in this programme, about to show your collection on the fashion week! If that’s not recognition of your talent, I don’t know what is.” She stood up and walked around the table to sit by him. “Zayn, my only and beloved son, it’s not wrong to feel proud of yourself and to be happy about what you’ve achieved.”

 

“Thanks, mum,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed by all the praise, and hugged her, the light scent of her perfume as comforting as when he was still a little boy.

 

***

 

Zayn was working day and night once he purchased the fabrics that suited his designs, coming out his room or basement turned studio only in time for meals. In the weeks preceding Tim Gunn’s visit in his home he made a lot of progress. He could only hope that after Tim’s critique he wouldn’t have to start over. He was actually quite proud of how his collection was coming together, but he wasn’t objective, and none of his family or friends were either.

 

He almost overslept on the day Tim announced to come by and he was in a big rush to clear up his studio space enough for them to be able to move freely. He pulled the rack with the garments he had managed to finish out of the corner it was stuck in and put the sketches of the rest on his now-cleaned desk, so they would be at the ready.

 

“Zayn? Is that Harry Styles on this photo?” Tim asked pointing to a photo almost hidden behind everything else.

 

“Uh, it is,” he answered, unsure. He kind of prayed that this moment wouldn’t make it into the final cut of the episode. Tim seemed lost in thought for a moment and Zayn started fidgeting at his side.

 

“Hey,” he said and put a hand on Zayn’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “You’re not the first designer to get inspired by a model.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“So don’t freak out and grab the inspiration while it lasts.”

 

“He’s Anja Rubik to my Anthony Vaccarello,” Zayn blurted out and blushed immediately after the words came out of his mouth. Tim only smiled.

 

“Good. Maybe you’ll end up being promoted by him one day.”

 

Later that day, when he thought about it again, he found that he wouldn’t mind it at all, if Harry ever decided to wear clothes designed by him. On the contrary, it would be pretty humbling and kind of amazing.

 

***

 

The night before their shows at London Fashion Week, all of them were focused and silent. There was no point in stressing over it now – all that they could do, was done for now and really, they deserved to just relax.

 

Livia was almost climbing walls, too wired to sit in one place longer than a few minutes.

 

Zayn opted for lounging in his bed until he fell asleep with his headphones on. Now that he had time to think about something other than his collection, his thoughts immediately ran to Harry and the last time they saw each other.

 

The thing was, Zayn kind of regretted not leaving any note for Harry. Sure, he had worried every time they met that he was just a passing fancy to him, that once he got what he wanted he wouldn’t contact him again, but Harry was always nothing short of nice and friendly towards him, trying to keep in touch and everything. Zayn felt really bad for how he treated him, judging him by what the tabloids wrote about him, when Harry gave him a good few chances for Zayn to get to know him.

 

He wanted Harry, he had known it the moment he started designing his collection, and he could only hope that it wasn’t too late for him to do something about it.

 

He stared at his number for a long time this night, pondering what he could say and when would be the best time to do so, until he fell asleep, clutching his phone to his chest.

 

***

 

Time for the London Fashion Week finally came.

 

Harry was snooping around backstage early in the morning. He couldn’t sleep, his biological clock still not adjusted to London time after staying in LA for a whole month. He was strolling down the corridors until he reached a greenroom and stopped in his tracks. There were racks with what he presumed were collections already. He looked around and when it seemed that no one was around, he swept over the racks with his eyes from the distance. One of them caught his attention, because there was one look separated from the others. He came closer, wanting to investigate this piece.

 

He pulled out the hanger and stared.

 

It was gorgeous. A rock-n-roll waistcoat, with skinny trousers and a flowy, sheer shirt with a bold-coloured print. The material of the shirt was so rich in colour and cool to the touch, and it looked like it would flow with the movement. The trousers’ texture was definitely innovative and Harry wondered how they would look on him. Not to mention the waistcoat, which made his eyes sparkle with want.

 

 _Who was brave enough to fit one menswear piece into a womenswear show?_ He thought.

 

He was still somewhat stuck staring at this magnificent piece, when he heard footsteps of more than a few people, clearly approaching his way. He dropped the sleeve he had been absent-mindedly caressing for the last few minutes. He glanced around, making sure no one got there yet, and he left the backstage as quietly and quickly as he could.

 

When he was rounding a corner, throwing one last look over his shoulder, he almost bumped into Heidi.

 

“Harry!” She exclaimed, clearly surprised by his presence. “What are you doing up here so early?”

 

“Heidi, hello!” He leant in and she kissed his cheek in greeting. “I came here to feel the vibe,” he shrugged. “I sort of like to get in the mood before the shows I’m walking, you know?”

 

“Oh, yeah, used to do that, too.”

 

“It’s strangely peaceful at this hour,” he pondered, sparing a thought to how hectic it would be when the fashion week would be launched. “How about you? What brings you here at the crack of dawn?”

 

“It is surprisingly calm here,” Heidi agreed. “But not for long – in a couple of hours start the Project Runway finale fashion shows, so they’re probably already backstage,” she smiled brilliantly at him.

 

“Oh! I didn’t know it was today!”

 

“Would you want to join us in the first row? I promise you it’ll be very exciting!”

 

“I’d love to!” He agreed at once. He was curious if he’d seen Zayn there, but he was also just curious and excited about seeing some new designs. He just loved fashion. He didn’t ask Heidi if Zayn was in the finale, feeling surprisingly shy and vulnerable when it came to him and their… relationship.

 

When the shows started, Harry felt much more awake and relaxed, hoping to see something fresh and astonishing.

 

He couldn’t help the proud, warm feeling that spread in his chest when he saw Zayn stepping out on the runway to quite an applause, to introduce his collection. He was excited and this nervous energy made him fidget and stoop at the edge of his seat.

 

Zayn’s collection stood out from the other contestants’ endeavours, his constructing skills showing and shining in his looks. Harry was watching each and every one of them as they came down the runway with the same avid interest and sheer appreciation.

 

None of this, though – the excitement of seeing something new, his appreciation of what Zayn created – none of this compared to the way he felt when Zayn came out at the end of the show wearing a piece that Harry had spotted and fawned over backstage. His jaw might as well have dropped.

 

He looked stunning. The trouser hugged his hips perfectly, snug in all the right places. The flowy shirt giving him a bit of ethereal vibe, the print of it standing out amazingly against his skin. And finally the waistcoat – with its original cuts and sharp edges completing the look and giving it the character. Zayn’s character. And Zayn – he glowed, smiling and waving to the audience, full of positive energy.

 

When he paused to blow a kiss over his shoulder before leaving the runway, Harry was more than tempted to catch it.

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly, they bumped into each other after the show.

 

“Harry, hi!” He called out, genuinely happy to see him. It was like fate decided to give him a chance to make things right. He braced himself,

 

“Zayn,” he nodded politely, stopping mid-step, his face blank. Right. He probably wasn’t Zayn’s biggest fan right now, considering how he left without a single explanation after their night together.

 

“I saw you in the front row,” he tried going for casual, wanting to draw Harry into a conversation with him and to stop him from going away.

 

“Ah, yes, Heidi invited me to sit by them,” Harry explained, equally casual. He was stealing looks above Zayn’s shoulder, his stance and mime giving off how uncomfortable he was. Zayn’s heart fell a little, although to be fair, he should have expected that it wouldn’t go smoothly.

 

“Oh, I see,” he said and looked around scrambling to find anything that he could say, to make Harry stay with a little more. Harry looked at him then, more attentively, the set of his jaw suggesting he made up some kind of decision as well.

 

“Congratulations, by the way,” he said lowly, his voice gone quiet as if he only wanted Zayn to hear that. Zayn couldn’t help but lean in. “It was pretty amazing.”

 

“Yeah? You liked it?”

 

Harry smiled softly and nodded. “If I were a judge…,” he started and trailed off, biting his lip in hesitation. “If it was down to me, you’d be the winner.”

 

Zayn felt as if he’d turned into stone – he couldn’t move, talk or even blink. He didn’t know why his words had affected him _so much_. Harry was _here_ , had seen his show, had _liked it_ and – Zayn didn’t know what to do. He wanted to thank him politely for his good words, maybe smile graciously and see if it still worked on Harry somehow. At the same time, he felt a strong urge to jump him, snog him breathless, and admit to his inner turmoil of the last two months – not necessarily in that order.

 

“So…,” Harry trailed off, his face blank and – why was it blank? Why wasn’t he smiling anymore? “I guess I’ll go look for my friends,” he finished and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

 

“You were my muse,” Zayn whispered finally getting a hold of himself and breaking out of his stupor. Harry turned to him abruptly.

 

“I – what?”

 

Zayn took a deep breath and tried again, louder. “You were my muse, Harry.”

 

It appeared that it was Harry’s turn to stare at him dumbfounded. Zayn decided that he might have as well gone for it.

 

“I really like you, Harry. And I’m… I’m sorry I never answered any of your texts,” he cast his eyes down, feeling more and more embarrassed with every passing second. He sucked in another breath and continued, “I wanted to. I just – I didn’t know what to say, really.”

 

“Zayn – ” Harry started but Zayn shushed him placing his fingertip gently on his lips. Harry flushed.

 

“Lemme finish, yeah?” Harry only nodded, his eyes almost comically wide. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No matter what I was doing, the thought of you was always at the back of my mind. This collection… You inspired me: the colours, the textures and lines I used – that’s how I see you.”

 

Harry closed the distance between them, then, but didn’t go for a kiss or full-on snog. No, he embraced Zayn and hugged him with all his might, causing him to squeak in surprise. “No one has ever said such a beautiful thing to me,” he whispered straight into Zayn’s ear before drawing back.

 

Zayn shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he said in a hushed voice. “And I’ll prove it to you, if you give me a chance.”

 

Harry looked at him weirdly and ran his hand through his hair. “Date me, then,” he said with force, but this time Zayn knew better than to think it was an order and get angry about it. “No avoiding, no running away, just. Dinners, long talks and stuff.”

 

Zayn smiled widely, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “And stuff?”

 

Harry nodded eagerly, his hair flopping with the movement. Zayn was happy that he didn’t have to hide his fond expression and school his features. “How could I say no to that?” He asked, rising his voice exaggeratedly. Harry giggled beside him.

 

“I know, right?”

 

  _Fin_.


End file.
